Fake
by Pain in the LawliPop
Summary: "As she fell to her knees, tears rushed from her eyes and she finally understood. She was false. She was fake. She was living a lie." A different look on Sachiko's inner thoughts. My first fanfic, please review :)


**Fake**

**Word count: 950**

**Disclaimer: *insert witty comment about how I don't own Death Note here* :'(**

Every day would start out the same: she would kiss his cheek in the morning, after he got dressed. Breakfast was usually the same too – a full English breakfast for him, complete with fried bread and free range eggs cooked to perfection, and a cup of tea and single bowl of cornflakes topped with fresh milk for her. It was a one-pint carton of milk purchased the night before, what she used. There was just enough to last until the next day.

She found that food shopping was her only chance to leave the house before he would return, what with her only friends constantly "unavailable". Not that she used this as an _escape _per se, just as an advantage to get outdoors and feel her lungs appreciate the fresh air she so desperately needed... yeah, let's go with that.

She did love him. Honest.

Sometimes it just seemed a little forced, like the feeling had become a choice, not an emotion, and it wasn't subconscious anymore.

Back when the little ones _were _little ones she would be relieved to hear the familiar creak of the door and tell-tale clunk of heavy police boots on the hall tile floor. But now that the kids were all grown up it seemed to be a different story entirely. Why was that? He was the same old husband; she was the same old wife. So why did she not feel that same old spark when he would lean down to gently peck her forehead?

As if that wasn't enough, when he would say those three little words in such a genuine voice it brought tears to her eyes, she would respond with a dull tone, a disbelieving tone that she felt as though she was kidding herself.

She was.

She told herself that there was no way on earth she could even doubt being in love with the brown eyed _father of her children._ No, she loved him with all her heart... probably... hopefully.

It was too hard not to at least hope he believed it himself that she loved him back. If he believed, then so could she, she told herself. Multiple times a day. Every day.

She did not work, no, he made enough money as chief of the NPA to provide for the whole family twice over. Their kids had one heck of an inheritance when they passed. And because of this, she would have approximately ten hours every weekday to kill. Cleaning was always a good solution, she found.

So she would clean.

And clean.

And clean.

When night would fall and he would return, she would greet him at the front door with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. To think, it used to be effortless. Ha.

Again, it would be the same routine – kiss his cheek, cook, clean; kiss his cheek, cook, clean; kiss his cheek, cook, clean...

Being honest, she was so far past bored, the very word would leave her in a side-splitting hysteria.

. .oOo.

One afternoon when she was alone to face the world of boredom, she had just returned from the supermarket, shopping bags in tow. The neighbour smiled cautiously, warily – she may bite. It was hard to keep up such a facade with neighbours as well, you know? Her chewed up nails agonisingly slowly ran along the zip of her old burgundy coat pocket, withdrawing a simple wedding ring. Such infuriating memories of a happy couple she had long since forgotten flashed through her mind rapidly in a sort of cinematic record. She scowled at the rose design. Rose, her favourite flower. Now just the thought of the flower made her want to vomit. Next she ran a bony finger over the message carved into the inside face of the jewellery. Holding it up to the sunlight, she scrutinized the ring, gradually bringing it closer to read the imprint: _Forever shall our love remain – Soichiro and Sachiko. _It was meaningless, worthless. This ring that should be on her finger, she just wanted to rid herself of it. Now.

Too many memories. Oh how wrong she had been.

She stared at it. Then she glared at it. Then she unlocked the door, revealing her obsessively clean house, not taking her eyes off the ring in the process. She let the shopping bags slip through her fingers, falling to the ground with a dull thud, ignorant of the sickening _CRACK _echoing from the egg carton. And then with full force, the slowly-losing-her-mind mother of two launched her precious wedding ring given to her twenty five years ago, along with its meaningless message at the far wall. And she _smiled _as she watched it bounce non-too-gracefully, dented and beyond repair, onto the floor.

In that instant, she felt nothing, no sorrow, no regret – nothing. It was blissful and she finally felt the courage to turn around and shut the door. Smiling genuinely at the yellowy-brown wooden door, she closed it gently, for a single moment feeling truly at peace.

...Then the room went dark. The smile vanished and was replaced by a stoic mask. She turned around and stared blankly at her reflection in the living room mirror. Nothing stared back. She finally cracked. After twenty five years with the man she thought she loved, only to find she only thought it was love, she finally cracked. She fisted her relatively short chocolate hair and the chewed up nails tore at her scalp. As she fell to her knees, tears streamed from her eyes, creating two identical clear paths on her cheeks and she finally understood. She was false. She was a fake. She was living a lie.

She was just another human being.

**A/N: Well hi there, this is my first fanfic and I've had this little plot bunny in my head for a while now, so I thought I'd give it a stab. At first this was going to be a Misa-centric fic, but **_**that **_**changed. *sigh* Wouldn't going mentally insane from boredom be a real pain in the lawlipop?**

**I hope you enjoyed my pathetic attempt at angst. Reviews are greatly appreciated. ^.^**


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